


In any season

by silverlined



Category: Samurai Warriors
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-15
Updated: 2010-12-15
Packaged: 2017-10-13 16:34:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/139373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverlined/pseuds/silverlined
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A year of wanting, told in four seasons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In any season

冬 **winter**

Mitsuru winds his hands in the thick, fluffy white wool of his scarf and watches his breath fog in the cold. It's snowing - just a light sprinkle of snowflakes that melt almost before they hit the ground. He can't feel his nose anymore.

"Is there a reason we're out here?"

Kiyoshi laughs at him, jacket undone and casually comfortable even in the cold that has Mitsuru shivering under his baggy white knit beanie.

"Don't you think it's beautiful? Osaka Castle in snow," Kiyoshi says reverently, looking up at the tall stone walls.

"Idiot," Mitsuru accuses bitterly but he has to agree. There's always been something about Osaka Castle that makes his breath catch and his heart hurt - he tugs off one of his gloves to trace his fingers along the rough stone and frowns a little.

By now, it's all concrete reproduction. The castle is nothing of its former self.

It still feels like coming home.

A sudden gust of wind sends a shiver down Mitsuru's spine and he looks over his right shoulder to- ... what, exactly? There's no one there and Mitsuru is disconcerted at the sense of loss, of something missing.

"Hey idiot," Kiyoshi calls. He's already a dozen steps ahead when he turns around, framed by the towering structure of the Sakuramon gate. "Are you coming?"

His back, straight and proud, feels like a familiar sight and Mitsuru feels a pang in his heart that he can't explain, deep and old.

"Don't be stupid," Mitsuru yells, scowling fiercely. "And _wait_ for me."

He's in a bad mood for the remainder of the day, irritable and restless, too full of wanting and not knowing why.

 

春 **spring**

It's impulse that makes Mitsuru take the long flights of stairs that he normally walks past without a second glance, an inexplicable desire that he doesn't try to examine any closer. There's a temple at the top, large and sprawling, surrounded by dense thickets and woods. Half covered by the drifting pink cherry blossoms - a priest fights a losing battle armed with only a broom, trying to keep at least the courtyard clear.

This priest is young, about the same age as Mitsuru and probably only in training, but his smile is warm and friendly. "Welcome."

Mitsuru shrugs uncomfortably though there's something about the other boy that feels almost familiar. He doesn't know why; he's never seen him before.

"My name's Kane. Is there something I can help you with?"

 _Is there?_ Mitsuru wants to ask but just shrugs again, mumbling a sullen, "Mitsuru." He looks around him instead of meeting Kane's eyes: there's a stone effigy by the gates, fierce in an open-mouthed roar, and elaborate purple and gold ofuda along the walls.

"It's good to meet you," Kane says and adds, thoughtful, "You have an old soul."

Mitsuru's head snaps up at that and he stares at Kane with no little shock. "What do you-"

"NEMESIS!" A ringing shout interrupts him, coming from the smaller building lining the left of the courtyard.

"Ah," Kane winces. "My master has company over, please excuse the noise." He starts to herd Mitsuru away from the shouting, an indecipherable slur of indignation and the higher voice that cheerfully replies.

Underneath it all is the low husk of baritone laughter and Mitsuru pauses, trying to catch the sound. It feels familiar, comforting and almost unwillingly, a smile tugs at his own lips.

Kane pulls him along but Mitsuru doesn't forget, the feeling of contentment lingering long after.

 

夏 **summer**

"Hey," Mitsuru says, tilting his head back to stare up at the cloudless sky above them, the grass of the sports field prickling beneath his palms. "You ever get the feeling we're missing something?"

A whistle blows and the class begins to scramble to their feet, good naturedly grumbling in the heat of the summer sun. Mitsuru ignores them, closing his eyes and watching the sunlight filter through his eyelids, glowing red like a memory he can't quite grasp. A shadow falls over his face and he opens his eyes, smiling up at the dark silhouette against the sun.

"Idiot," Kiyoshi mutters, holding out his hand. "The only thing missing is your brain."

Mitsuru laughs and lets himself be hoisted up, stumbling to his feet and spinning away. "I'm skipping the next class."

"We have a guest speaker."

"An author," Mitsuru says derisively. "Another useless lecture on what to do with our future."

"Nee-sama's going to be angry when she finds out," Kiyoshi warns him mildly, always the voice of reason.

It's true and even Mitsuru pauses for a second because the class president had earned her nickname with an iron fist and mothering touch. "State the obvious, why don't you?" Then tilts his head, imperious. "You're coming, aren't you?"

"Don't be stupid," Kiyoshi smirks with a shake of his head. "Like I could leave you alone."

They come back when afternoon classes end, just in time for homeroom and packing up. Nee-sama catches them almost immediately - she's fast and strong for someone so petite and backs them into a corner for a lecture. Mitsunari watches the sparkle of sunlight glittering off the gold clips in her brown hair instead of listening.

"-and Shima-sensei deserves more respect!" Nee-sama huffs, wriggling an admonishing finger in their faces. "He was a good speaker and very inspirational!"

"Sorry, Nee-sama," Kiyoshi says, sheepish. He's hang-dog and puppy eyed but he's always had a soft spot for the class president, letting her mother him incessantly when Mitsuru snapped and lost his temper. Nee-sama sighs and softens considerably.

"Next time," she frowns and reaches up to ruffle Kiyoshi's hair, bleached silver-blond and spiked.

Mitsuru ignores them and wonders what he's missing, the echo of a forgotten memory dancing at the edge of his mind.

 

秋 **autumn**

The leaves drift and swirl, red and gold in the brisk wind that warns of winter. Even in his thick winter uniform, Mitsuru shivers - he's never liked the cold. It feels too much like loss.

There's something ominous about autumn, when the days start to shorten and the leaves put on their funeral finery. He hates the sound of fireworks, explosions like gunfire and cannons, a last celebration before the cold death of winter descends.

"A little morbid, aren't you?" Kane laughs at him gently and loops a protection charm around his neck. "Life is lived and love can be found in any season."

"Your patron god is Bishamon," Mitsuru points out wryly.

"I do all my works in the name of love," Kane tells him piously and shoos Mitsuru out of the temple grounds with a smirk. "I think you'll have good fortune today."

Mitsuru rolls his eyes but goes, content to meander slowly on the way home. It's an unexceptional day, the sky bright and clear despite the wind and Mitsuru wraps his scarf more securely, pulling it high to cover his nose and chin.

He hasn't been sleeping well and dark shadows smudge like bruises beneath his eyes. His dreams are haunted by the smells of autumn, woodsmoke and roasting chestnuts and the acrid tinge of gunpowder. Despair and the memory of blood, loneliness and the sharp pangs of hunger that can't be fulfilled.

He traces a finger across the base of his throat and closes his eyes.

Unfortunately for him, there's a reason that most people look where they're going when walking and a split second later, he crashes hard into a warm, unyielding wall of muscle and his feet skitter out from beneath him, slipping on the piles of fallen leaves. Before he can even yelp, eyes flying open to see a swing of black and a dizzying twirl of blue sky, strong hands grip his arms and steady him.

"Fuck," Mitsuru mutters, trying to catch his breath with his pulse hammering in his ears from shock. He looks up to thank his saviour - and stops, the words faltering away from him.

The man is tall, his hands large and warm still on Mitsuru's arms, and shoulders a broad expanse but it all pales compared to his dark eyes and the way he studies Mitsuru's face, like a puzzle he can't quite figure out. "Hey," he says roughly and clears his throat. "Are you alright?"

The warmth feels so familiar. Like laughter, deep and low, spreading like fire through his veins.

"I-" Mitsuru begins and wonders when his hands had moved, why one of them is clutched in the stranger's shirt, unwilling to let go. "I think I am. Now."

The man stares down at him like a revelation, something indescribable spreading over his face and when he smiles, Mitsuru's breath catches. "Yeah," he says thoughtfully. "I think we are."

 

 

 

+おまけ **extras**

 

They drop in on Masa on the way back from Osaka Castle, Kiyoshi dangling a tiny replica castle keyring and Mitsuru holding two oranges, awkward and annoyed.

"I thought idiots didn't catch colds," Kiyoshi laughs, taking in Masa's misery surrounded by crumpled tissues and mussed sheets.

"That explains why you're always so healthy," Mitsuru mutters and rolls the oranges towards Masa, not prepared to get any closer than necessary.

Masa makes an emphatically rude gesture, his throat too sore to talk, but the three of them have been friends since Kiyoshi first pulled Mitsuru's hair and Mitsuru had tried to break his nose and Masa had gotten in the way, grazing his knee and getting the teachers called on them with his crying. Bonds in blood and tears.

"Get well soon, idiot," Mitsuru orders when they leave, staying only a moment to not exhaust Masa too much.

Kiyoshi grins. "And when you do, we can go back to Osaka Castle together."

 

Mitsuru takes almost ten minutes to walk slowly up the long flights of stairs leading to the temple, pausing every now and then to look around him and down, the street reduced to a ribbon of asphalt and cars like bright jewels.

It's a long walk, peaceful, which is why Mitsuru is so incredibly annoyed when a jogger runs past him. He's high school aged, perhaps a year or two younger than Mitsuru himself from his face, but tall and his long legs eat up the shallow steps three at a time. A red ribbon flutters behind him, tied around his forehead to keep the sweat out of his eyes.

"Good afternoon," the jogger calls out, oddly formal. A minute later, he's gone, already at the top.

Mitsuru arrives five minutes later. The jogger is still there, the red of his running shorts a splash of colour as he stretches and talks with Kane who has abandoned his broom for the day.

"Mitsuru," Kane calls when he sees him, and beckons him over. "Come and meet a friend of mine, Yukito."

"I'm pleased to meet you," Yukito says solemnly, painfully sincere. His eyes are wide and brown and completely earnest.

Mitsuru repeats it back with a bow and is surprised to find that he means it.

 

"It's not summer without going to a festival," Yukito insists and since the world is helpless before his sincerity, Mitsuru gives in with bad grace and allows them to drag him to the Osaka Castle grounds, wrapped in a yukata and in only marginally bad temper.

Half his class is already there; Kiyoshi and Masa trying their luck and failing at the various stalls with games, Nee-sama clinging to her boyfriend's arm and smacking him for his wandering eye.

The grounds are crowded and there's more than one school trip present, a wash of accents from Tokyo and Hokkaido and Kyuushuu around him. A couple catches his eye, the boy tall and attention grabbing in his violet yukuta, belted low and loose to show his chest. He's at the dart-throwing booth, a girl in a matching yukata - only a few shades paler, accented in pink and lavender - stands by his side, scowling and looking impatient.

The watching crowd - mainly girls - cheer when he hits the target and he grins, leaning in and gesturing to the prize he wants. She's not watching, displeased with all the attention and starts in surprise when he shoves his prize into her arms - a plush cat, white and fluffy.

He says something and laughs at her wide eyes, catching her wrist in his hand and tugging her off to the next booth. His grip loosens but he doesn't let go, sliding his hand down to entangle his fingers with hers. Behind his back, she hugs the cat to her chest with her free hand and smiles into its fur.

Mitsuru's too far away to hear what their words and turns away before someone catches him watching, but somehow, he's a little happier, a little hopeful. He doesn't examine the feeling any closer but smiles and lets Kane and Yukito hustle him to the goldfish vendor, laughing when the three of them fail to win anything at all.

 

"Wait," Sakon says, horrified. "What do you mean you're only eighteen?"

**Author's Note:**

> \+ the Battle of [Sekigahara](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Battle_of_Sekigahara) was in October, mid Autumn  
> \+ [Bishamon](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vai%C5%9Brava%E1%B9%87a#In_Japan) or Bishamonten is a Buddhist god of war and Uesugi's patron deity  
> \+ [Osaka Castle](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Osaka_Castle)'s main tower, due to numerous disasters, is pretty much completely concrete replica  
> \+ [Idiots can't catch colds](http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/IdiotsCannotCatchColds)  
> \+ Ginchiyo's [cat](http://koei.wikia.com/wiki/Ginchiyo_Tachibana#Trivia)


End file.
